


Doctor, Doctor

by Alicethrutheburrows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Advice is given by Cas, Cas in a lab coat, Dean talks about his feelings...what?, Dean thinks he is an escape artist, Doctor!Cas, Doctor/Patient, Ficlet, Happy Ending, I'm not saying I'm a doctor, M/M, May have some triggers for some people, One Shot, Opening Up, Patient!Dean, Please talk to someone if you feel this way, Pysch Ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21896128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicethrutheburrows/pseuds/Alicethrutheburrows
Summary: It will be easy Dean, trust me. We'll make up a story, get you in the psych ward, finish the case and you'll break out no problem.Except what Dean doesn't expect is the facility to a fortress, and each escape attempt after his case is solved is thwarted. When he begins to receive escape tips from one of the doctors, the last thing on Dean's mind is the doctor's intentions. Somehow, the good doc worms his way into Dean's mind and possibly his heart. Getting help was never on the list, but now it's everything Dean ever needed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37
Collections: GifInspirationChallenge2019





	Doctor, Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> First let me say, I'm so sorry this ficlet is so late. When I set out to write it I had the best intentions, but as I began the thicket of the fic I realized I had to write pieces of myself into this story. Like Dean, I too, sometimes want to throw myself to the bottom of the ocean, and writing this allowed me to express and face many emotions I had kept under wraps. This story is meant as a warm hug to you, you are not alone. Please understand this may trigger some people, it's a deep yet not so deep look at mental health. I am not a doctor, but I stand by these words. 
> 
> Second, I would like to give many thanks. Thank you to my amazing beta~VirgoCastiel. You are a blessing. Also, a huge thank you for the mods of this challenge for being so thoughtful and kind to me. And also to the wonderful friends I found in my discord chat, thank you for giving me the strength to finish. 
> 
> As always, welcome down my rabbit hole. This time when you fall, I'll be there to catch you. 
> 
> Love, Alice

### And How Does That Make You Feel?

##### 

Doctor, Doctor  
Gimme the news I got a  
Bad case of lovin' you  


Every inch of this place smells like rubbing alcohol and bleach. _Like cleaning products can cover up the smell of crazy_, Dean thinks, pumping his arms harder. The walls, the ceiling, and the floor are all sparkling white like someone took a fresh can of white paint and had a fucking rave party. Even Dean’s off-brand Vans style sliders were scrubbed white, squeaking against the overly polished white speckled tile floor as he rounded the corner, narrowly maintaining his balance. Running footsteps echo behind him, the sound reverberating off the walls, sounding like a herd of galloping horses. Given the advancing loudness of the footsteps, they’re definitely gaining on him. Fuck.

Evaluating his options as he rounds the following corner with his fingers smudging the floor as he almost slips again, Dean throws himself into the first unlocked door on the right-hand side. Momentary relief floods his brain as he slams the door, twists the lock, and slides down the wood onto the floor. After a few panting gulps of air, he realizes he really should have checked to make sure the room was empty first. 

The doctor in the room tilts his head and narrows his eyes as his eyes rake over Dean trying to catch his breath. Fuck, this guy is going to rat him out and he’ll end up back in isolation… again. Dean stares back at the striking ocean eyes boring into his, daring the doc to squawk. By the looks of his every-which-way bedhead, the doc has never seen a hairbrush.

Those ridiculously blue eyes leave his as they glance between him and the two nurses running by. Dean can see the exact moment when the doctor pieces together the scene in front of him—Dean gasping for air, the running nurses, and the locked door. Dean holds his breath while closing his eyes and rests his head against the door. If the hot doc is to doom him, at least he has this moment of peace.

“You should wait until they pass back by.”

“What?” Dean croaks in disbelief, cracking an eye open at the doctor now standing at the window, scanning the hallway for the nurses.

Turning his attention away from the window, he peers down at Dean. “You should wait until they pass back by—” Dean watches as the doctor reaches down to read his information wristband before he finishes his sentence—“Mr. Winchester.” 

“Dean,” Dean huffs, shaking his wrist out of the doctor’s grasp. “Mr. Winchester was my dad.”

“Well if you were planning to escape, I would recommend the stairs two doors down,” The doc throws over his shoulder, moving towards his desk as if Dean were nothing more than a nuisance; nothing more than a fly buzzing around the room. Is this guy for real? Dean studies the doctor as he picks up his notes and perches himself on the edge of his desk—the picture of nonchalance. 

The nurses run by the window in the opposite direction, their footsteps frantic and scattered. 

“Are you helping me?” The words leave Dean’s mouth faster than his brain can process them through. 

“No.” The doctor’s deadpan voice snaps Dean’s attention from the window to those fucking piercing bottomless blue eyes. “Also, the security guard on the first floor leaves his post for coffee every thirty minutes or so, man is a caffeine addict.” 

“You’re not going to yell to have them come collect me?” Dean questions. No sane doctor would help an escaping patient. 

“Do you believe you should be here?” The doc counter-questions. Dean sighs, he does not have the energy or the time to unpack that question right now. And he really doesn’t have the time to play twenty questions, the quicker he gets out the better. 

“No,” He says, standing and pushing himself up from the door, throwing a weary glance towards the window before glancing back at the doctor. 

“Then by all means.” Dean’s gaze flits down to the doctor’s chapped lips as he licks them before saying, “Leave the facility, _Dean_.” 

What the hell just happened, doesn’t even cross Dean’s mind until he is halfway down the stairs and praying the security guard is gone for coffee.

* * *

“Hello Dean,” The doc says, not even bothering to glance up from his notes as Dean barrels into the room, throwing the door closed behind him.

“Heya, Doc.”

“Are you on your third or fourth attempt this week?” Dean doesn’t miss the sly smile the doc is trying to hide. Asshole is definitely getting enjoyment from watching Dean run around this place like a mouse in a maze. If his tips weren’t reliable, Dean would think the doctor was trying to set him up for his own personal sick enjoyment. 

Fuck. Dean watches as the nurses spilt up, trying the doors in the hallway. Bastards are getting smarter. A mantra of shit, shit, shit chants in Dean’s brain. Operating on fight or flight auto-pilot, Dean maneuvers the doctor out of his way in order to crawl underneath the desk. Dean would pout at the doctor’s chuckles if he wasn’t holding his breath hearing the door open.

“Dr. Novak, have you seen a loose patient pass by this hallway?” The question fills the still room. Dean sneaks a peek up at the doctor who is simultaneously peering down at him. Dean gives the doc the best puppy dog eyes he can muster and curls tighter into himself under the desk in hopes of disappearing altogether. 

“Doctor?” 

“No,” The doctor says, as he scoots his chair further under the desk, effectively squishing Dean. If he wasn’t saving his ass right now, Dean would totally the bite the shit out of the doc’s kneecap for this. “Sorry, as you can see, I’m quite busy here. I doubt I would have seen a patient run by if they had.” The doctor deadpans, and Dean can hear shuffling papers above him. 

“If you see anything suspicious, please inform the office, ” The nurse says, clearly annoyed.

“Of course.” The doctor scoffs rather dismissively like he currently isn’t harboring said escapee. Dean hears the door open and slam shut, too hard not to be considered passive aggressive. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, Dean shoves at the doc’s knees and crawls out of his hiding place.

“The nurse on the second floor is out sick today, perhaps try the employee elevator today,” The doctor says, a smirk on his lips at Dean’s floundering. Dean should have bit him after all.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles through pursed lips, scanning the window to avoid eye contact. “Dr. Novak, huh?”

“Yes,” Dr. Novak nods before rolling his eyes, “But you would know that if you came to your sessions rather than barreling in here and then leaving like your pants are on fire.” Dean rolls his eyes in return at the doctor’s words. 

“Uh huh,” Dean mutters, considering his escape route options. He could try the stairs again, but since the first time the security guard isn’t allowed coffee breaks and Dean would rather not deal with a caffeine starved man. Damn nurses took his sheets after he tried escaping out the game room window, and he’s eighty-five percent sure they’re medicating his Jell-O now. Cherry flavored, his ass.

“Have you thought about simply trying to get out the normal way? You know, completing the program, Dean.” 

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Dean says, face scrunching up in disgust. “I’m fine.”

“Do you always say you’re fine when you are, in fact, not fine?” 

Dean huffs, fuck this. The doc is a quack, a quack for the quacks. 

Mid running down the stairs Dean really wishes he could turn his brain off. Dr. Novak’s last words—_Give it some thought, Dean_—play on repeat in his mind like a broken record. He is fine and he doesn’t need a doctor, no matter how hot, poking around inside his noggin.

* * *

Dean rocks the chair on its back leg in Dr. Novak’s office. They’ve been playing this game of silent chicken for about five minutes, give or take. Dean could do this all day as he stares at the doctor flipping through his notes with a furrowed brow and a stupid pen stuck behind his ear. Even slightly agitated, Dean has to give it to the doc, now that he has had time to admire him, the man was gorgeous up close—sexy dark tousled hair, sharp jawline, and a slightly five o’clock shadow. He looks like the kind of man who would play a sexy doctor for a daytime drama rather than be a real doctor, really the only thing missing was some sexy cowboy boots. 

Dean is not saying he has a doctor fetish but Doc’s frumpy white coat he sports everyday happens to leave everything to Dean’s imagination, and boy does his imagination provide some definite spank bank material. Deans pulls at the collar of his shirt, feeling slightly flushed. Damn, this place was really starting to get to him.

“Can you tell me why you are here, Dean?” Dr. Novak asks, pausing his note rifling to glance up at Dean. 

“I’m sure it’s in my ‘file’,” Dean says dismissively, waving a hand towards the notes on the desk. 

“Dean,” Dr. Novak says, quirking an eyebrow at him. Dean rocks back in his chair again, counting the tiles on the ceiling. He was giving the “normal” way the good ole’ college try as the doc suggested, but he wasn’t about to make it a cake walk. He’d much rather let the nurses chase him around rather than sit here and spill his guts. 

After a few silent minutes, Dean gives up counting tiles, reverting his gaze back to the doctor. Honestly, he was expecting some annoyed or begrudging look but instead was met with some serious sincerity in the doctor’s eyes. Those damn cerulean eyes were examining him like he was the most fascinating human in the world. The doctor must have the patience of a saint, for another few silently awkward minutes pass between them just blatantly staring at one another. 

Dean is the first to break the silence this time, mumbling under his breath as he shifts away from the heavy eye contact. 

“Unfortunately, reading lips is not among the talents I possess, Dean.”

“I said, I’m here because _supposedly_ building a coffin and planning to throw yourself to the bottom of the ocean in said coffin is considered unhealthy,” Dean says, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Dean questions incredulously. “That’s all you got for me, Doc; you’re not going to ask me why? You’re not going to get all super shrinky on me?”

The doctor hums in response, taking the pen from his ear and ignoring Dean’s question. Dean watches the doc fiddle with his pen between his deft fingers for a moment before he has had enough and begins rapid firing questions: “Aren’t you going to ask me about my family?” “Are you going to ask me about my mom?” “Aren’t you going to ask about my dad?” “Why the fuck are you wasting my time?!”

“Do you wish to talk about your family, Dean?” The doctor deadpans.

“No.”

“Do you wish to talk about your mom?”

“No.”

“Do you wish to talk about your dad?”

“NO!” Dean almost screams. He rubs at his temples, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on. The hot doc asked him to try it the normal way and now the fucker was pulling his chain. Dean casts his eyes down after his sudden outburst, mentally questioning what the hell he was even doing here. 

“Okay,” The doctor repeats himself. 

“Okay then,” Dean says, crossing his arms and glancing everywhere but at the doc. If the doctor wants to play this game, then so be it—and with that thought Dean’s hour passes without another word between them.

* * *

The next couple sessions follow in the same pattern. Silence followed by heavy eye contact followed by more silence and the same fucking question—Can you tell me why you are here, Dean? —which Dean has taken to answering even more sarcastically every time it’s asked followed by more fucking silence. If Dean wasn’t already labeled insane, he might be now. 

This time when Dr. Novak asks his stupid fucking question, Dean feels his entire being snap. His words spill out of his mouth like a pot of boiling water left unattended—raging and scorching hot. 

“What do you want me to say, huh?” Dean hisses. “Do you want me to admit that building the coffin was a bad idea? You want me to say I’m crazy for wanting to drown myself in the ocean, because I got news for you buddy, I don’t need to hurl myself in the fucking ocean to feel like I’m drowning.” 

“To feel like I am struggling for every fucking of breath air I take, to feel like the world around me is crushing my lungs, and you know the worst part Doc, is everyone expects you to be okay. They expect you to keep fighting like nothing is wrong, like you’re insane because you are fucking drowning underneath it all.” 

Dean feels all the air rush out him at once. He inhales sharply, trying to ground himself as his next words come out softer than he ever thought he was capable of, “And I’m not insane. I’m not,” his voice breaks as he tries to finish, “I’m just tired.” 

Dean doesn’t know how long he had been sitting with his head bowed and eyes slammed shut when the Doc’s voice calling his name finally registers. 

“Dean,” The doc says softly. Dean opens his eyes to find the Doc standing close to him, but not close enough to make him feel suffocated. He rubs at his eyes, feeling stupid for letting the Doc get inside his brain, letting him see what Dean has managed to keep under lock and key. 

“Dean,” Dr. Novak tries again, this time with Dean meeting his eyes. “It’s okay to feel what you are feeling. It’s not wrong to feel this way, and certainly doesn’t make you insane, as you put it.”

Dean nods in response to the doc’s words. “I’m proud of you Dean.”

Dean sniffles, staring at the doctor like he just bad-mouthed Han Solo. “Why?”

“Dean, you took a big step today. I’m willing to go at your pace, but I needed you to take the first step.”

“And what step is that, Doc? Cause from where I’m sitting, I just fucking exploded.”

“Dean,” The doctor says, giving him a soft up-turn of his lips. “You quit running from your problems today. You don’t have to face your demons or troubles right now, but you can’t begin to heal until you quit running.”

“I…” Dean swallows, he didn’t have words, but he did, for the first time in a long time, feel a little bit lighter. “Okay,” he finally says. Maybe the doc isn’t such a quack like he thought.

Dr. Novak beams at him; the smile scrunching up his face in a way Dean could only describe as adorable. “Okay.”

* * *

The sessions flow differently after Dean’s initial outburst. Cas, as Dean has taken to calling Dr. Novak, has somehow managed to bypass all of Dean’s defenses. Some sessions are lighthearted, and Dean does most of the talking, anything from _You haven’t seen an episode of Star Wars Cas, What are you, a caveman?_ to _Led Zeppelin is a legend Cas, a rock legend and it is a crime against humanity you haven’t listened to them_. Then there are the sessions where Cas does most of the talking, the sessions where Dean is on the edge again, but Cas manages to talk him back every time, manages to drag out every dark and hideous part of Dean he has spent all these years keeping hidden into the light. 

Cas, though—Cas never bats an eye. Not at Dean’s stories about his cases, his not-so-sunshine childhood, or about losing anyone who gets too close to him. That particular session left Dean more flayed open than the first time he sliced open his heart for the doctor to see.

“You don’t understand Cas, everyone I get close to dies,” Dean says. “They keep dropping like flies, and at some point, you realize it’s your fault, you wonder what went wrong or what you could have done differently.” 

“Dean,” Cas starts in his soft voice he reserves when he’s about to drop some truth knowledge on Dean. “Death ends a life, not the relationship.” The doc pauses, making sure he has Dean’s full attention. “Those that you lose are never truly gone, you carry them with you. You are you because you knew them whether they were family, a friend, or a lover. They touched your life in some way or another and shaped who you are, a piece of them grows inside you as you grow as a person. It’s okay to mourn their loss, it’s not okay to blame yourself for their death.”

Dean went to his room that night reevaluating everything for the hundredth time since he decided to take Cas’ advice on giving this whole thing a try. Even the nurses seem thankful, if not bored, by Dean’s change of heart. 

But the sessions that get to Dean the most, the ones that keep him tossing and turning at night, replaying in his head over and over again, are the ones filled with sexual tension. Dean is sane enough to know he is not deluding himself; he definitely sees a spark of interest in the doctor’s eyes. He sees the way Cas’ eyes flit down to his lips when he licks them and the way his eyes devour the sliver of skin of his stomach that’s on display when Dean purposely stretches obnoxiously. Dean’s not blind to the doctor’s favoritism, either—the random burgers after Dean complained about the food, the pie after Dean mentioned it was his favorite, the helpful escape tips, the smuggled-in books for Dean to read at night—no, Dean’s not crazy, there’s definitely something there. 

But it’s as if somewhere in the midst of their sessions they drew an imaginary line in the sand with each one flirting with the damn line but never actually crossing it. 

Today though, would be the day Dean would cross over that line and take control. He played out how today’s session would go in his head all night. His plan was simple, corner Cas and find out if there were more than just seemingly innocent glances between them. 

Dean smooth-talked one of the nurses with his infamous charming smile to let him leave for his sessions a few minutes early so he could set his plan in motion on the unsuspecting doctor. 

Perching himself on the edge of Cas’ desk, Dean prides himself on how well his plan is already playing out. On cue, Cas enters the room, a bemused smile on his lips as he spots Dean. 

“Hello, Dean.” The doc lightly teases, advancing slowly towards him. “Are you planning another escape?”

“No,” Dean says, flashing his best smile. “I thought we’d do some of that reverse psychology mumbo jumbo. You know where the doctor becomes the patient.” Dean watches a few emotions play across Cas’ face before he settles on his normal stoic poker face. “Have a seat, Doc,” Dean says, gesturing to the chair he normally sits in. Slowly but tentatively, Cas moves towards the chair, keeping Dean in his peripheral. Dean grabs the edge of the desk, trying to keep his nerves in check. The shifting power dynamic is felt between both parties, the tension almost palpable. 

Cas seats himself, folding his hands in his lap and tilting his chin up, waiting for Dean’s instructions. 

“So, tell me, Cas, how does this make you feel?” A bubble of laughter fills the room as Cas doubles over at Dean’s words. Dean grips the desk a little harder with a slight pout on his face—better to let the doc have his laugh now, for he won’t be laughing for long. He’s hasn’t come this far only to come this far.

“Really, Dean?” Cas asks, wiping a laugh-tear from his eye. “Do you think we all sound like that?”

“Okay,” Dean says, letting go of the desk and taking a step into Cas’ space. “How does this make you feel?”

Cas tilts his head while squinting his eyes, an action Dean noticed the doc does when he is trying to piece together Dean’s words about a pop culture reference he doesn’t understand or when he is curious. And Dean is praying it’s the latter. When Cas says nothing, Dean takes another bold step forward, watching those blue eyes dissect his every move and then he takes another, standing just in front of the doctor’s bent knees.

Cas’ breath hitches as Dean straddles his lap, no doubt catching the doctor off guard. 

“And how does this make you feel?” Dean teases, adjusting himself more comfortably on Cas’ lap, sitting just shy of rubbing himself against the other man. Dean feels the doctor go rigid beneath him, the hands previously in his lap white-knuckling the edge of the chair.

“Dean,” Cas chokes out, his voice half-strangled, half-gasping. Wrapping his arms around the doctor’s neck, Dean begins to feel his boldness fade. He was so sure, now looking at Cas’s wide, almost skittish eyes he’s starting to feel the threads of doubt creep in. Dean casts his eyes down but doesn’t move from the warmth of the doctor’s lap. Biting his bottom lip, Dean runs through all the possible scenarios for his next move in his mind as the tension runs rampant between them. 

All of those emotions race through Dean’s veins leaving him reeling like a test dummy on a crash course. “Cas,” He starts but loses steam, opting to close his eyes instead and lean forward to place his forehead against the doctor’s, basking in the doc’s warmth and cologne. 

“Dean,” Cas softly says, trying to garner Dean’s attention. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean can’t look at him. He can’t look into those huge, bottomless blue eyes and see rejection, or worse, pity. He needs this moment even if it’s a fabrication of reality. Dean presses in a little closer, if only his confidence hadn’t had faltered. 

“Dean.” The doctor’s voice bleeds warmth, but wavers slightly as he speaks again, “Dean, can I touch you?” 

Dean can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips, followed by a sheepish smile. “Isn’t that the point, Doc?” His joking tone falls flat though, expecting Cas to gently push Dean off his lap when he asked to touch him. What Dean doesn’t expect is the soft almost feather light drawn circles on his back; they feel nice. Another hand cards through his hair, gently pulling on his neck, guiding Dean to rest his forehead in the crook of the doctor’s neck and shoulder. Dean melts into the doctor’s shoulder as he continues his soft drawn circles. A soft exhale proceeds a softer hum of approval. When was the last time he was touched like this? When was the last time he felt this safe? 

Safe. The word itself has him bristling before relaxing once again. Dean racks his brain, he feels immense guilt creeping in. He put the doctor in quite the compromising position, despite his feelings, his body continues to slacken under the doctor’s ministrations. He feels more vulnerable than he ever has. Damn. Dean sucks in his lower lip to worry between his teeth. 

“Will you tell me what prompted your sudden actions?” Cas says, switching from circles to soothing back and forth lines. 

“I, well, uh, I…” Dean stammers, how does even begin to say what he wants to say? “I felt, I mean I wanted, no, I _needed_ to know.” 

“Oh, you needed to know what, Dean?” Cas says, but he knows Dean better than anyone and continues before Dean can get a word in edgewise, “Did you need to feel in control, Dean? What has you so on edge that you felt the need to crawl in my lap?”

“I…” Dean begins to answer, but the words die on his tongue as he buries his face deeper into the doctor’s coat. He feels the sigh Cas heaves but doesn’t open his eyes. This is not the way a grown man should handle embarrassment, but he can’t bare to bring himself to move and have Cas stop his touches. 

“Many people confuse the need for intimacy for sexual frustration,” Cas says, pushing a little harder along the knobs of Dean’s spine. “And that frustration often leads to a need to be in control, when in reality, one’s desires are rather simple. It makes sense you would lean on me since I have gained your trust but—”

“Cas!” Dean interrupts, leaning back to finally stare Cas in the eyes. He needs him to understand. “I admit, I wanted to test the waters between us, but I don’t like you just because you’re my doctor. I’m not so far gone that I’d attach myself to the first person who was able to get under my skin.”

“Dean, you are my patient, and as much as I would love to return your sentiment, I cannot. As your doctor it would be an abuse of my power. Even offering you comfort as I am now is pushing my boundaries as acceptable doctor-patient behavior.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Dean feels even more curious as he studies the faint pink hue coloring the doctor’s cheeks. “Why didn’t you push me to the floor?” Cas casts his eyes to the side, letting his hands slide from Dean’s back to his sides. The action has Dean posing an even more important question. “Why haven’t you still pushed me off of you?”

Dean watches the faint pink hue deepen into an almost crimson red on Cas’ cheeks. 

“You are heavy,” Cas huffs, but Dean isn’t buying his cheap words. 

“Am I now?” Dean says, feeling his confidence slightly renewed at Cas’ beautiful shy expression.

“Dean,” Cas chastises, and Dean doesn’t want this little game they fell into to end yet, but he knows he has already pushed the doctor to his breaking point. He found the answer he was unaware he was searching for. 

Bending down, Dean places a brief kiss in between Cas’ furrowed brows before leaning to the side to whisper in the doctor’s ear, “I won’t be your patient forever, doc.”

Scrambling off the doctor’s lap, Dean lets Cas stew in his words. It’s not that the doctor doesn’t want him; it’s that the doctor can’t have him. Dean can respect that, like the doctor respects him. Without his acknowledgement, Dean’s feet are already moving towards the door. Some space would do the both of them some good. 

As the door swings closed, Dean hears Cas call out, “I look forward to it.” The skip in Dean’s step matches the skip in his heart.

* * *

“Dinner,” The nurse says, laying a silver tray on Dean’s small bedside dresser. She leaves as soon as the tray is situated, not sparing Dean a glance. A lazy smirk pulls at Dean’s lips. After he quit trying to escape every five seconds, he was able to use his charms to get chummy with a few of the nurses allowing him just what he needed. 

A small disposable phone sits underneath his plate. He dials the only number he knows by heart. It clicks through after the third ring. 

“Bitch,” Dean mutters. 

“Jerk,” The other voice instantly replies. Dean lets out a sigh of relief at the familiar sound of his little brother. “What the hell, Dean? I sent you in there for a simple case and it’s been over a month since I’ve heard from you!”

Sam’s concern is understandable. It’s not like Dean was expecting to be trapped here, the doctor’s smug face flashes in his mind’s eye, or voluntarily stay. Stupid Cas. Letting out an exhale, explaining himself is going to be a pain. He’d rather have his teeth pulled. “It’s not like I was expecting this place to be fucking fortified like Fort Knox Sammy.” 

“Dean, if anyone can escape from anywhere, it’s you!”

“I know.”

“Then what happened?” Dean can particularly hear the bitch face his brother is probably making right now through the phone. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, fuck Sam for pushing him into a corner. “I stayed.”

“Why?” Sam says, drawing the word out with suspicion. 

“To get help, I guess. Cas managed to worm his way into my brain and, well, I feel better than I have in years. He’s like some souped up Yoda with all his wisdom, I swear.”

“Who is Cas?”

“The doctor.”

Dean can hear Sam take in a sharp breath, usually an indicator that Dean is not going to like what his brother has to say next. “So, let me get this right. You’ve been staying in a mental hospital getting real help from a real doctor, and it’s actually working?”

“Yeah?”

Sam’s laughter fills the phone, and it’s not the reaction he was expecting. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that I’m proud of you, I’m glad you decided to get help.” Sam clears his throat of any lingering chuckles. “But, Dean, you’ve been gone awhile. I need your help. The cases are piling up.”

“I was thinking it was about time for me to leave anyways.” 

“Good. I’ll be waiting outside the facility at 8 p.m. sharp tomorrow.”

“Let’s jail break this bird.” 

“We won’t have a large window of time—”

“Don’t worry your pretty little princess hair Sammy, I got a plan.” The next couple minutes are filled with minor details, and curt goodbyes. The itch to leave is now a full blown rash, for more than one reason. Dean scrubs a hand down his face while he’s blowing this popsicle joint, his thoughts linger on Cas; on the way he was awestruck today with Dean in his lap, the hunger he displayed in his eyes but refused to act on—_I won’t be your patient forever_. Tomorrow he’d have his great escape for sure and it would require one more favor from the doctor.

* * *

Luck has always been one of Dean’s life blessings, and it didn’t fail him tonight as he burst into Cas’ office to see the doctor still going over today’s notes. Cas gives him a head tilt, probably in an attempt to decipher why Dean was out of his room past lockdown hours. 

“Dean?” Cas says, removing himself from his desk to cross the room to where Dean is standing. Hearing his name from the doctor’s lips has his knees almost buckling. Closing his eyes, Dean tries to steady himself; this goodbye was going to be harder than he imagined. 

“Cas,” Dean says, opening his eyes to a face full of Cas. Dean takes just a moment to analyze and commit every feature of the man’s face to memory. “I need you to trust me,” Dean prides himself on how strong his voice sounds as he watches a frown form on Cas’ lips. “I need to leave tonight, Cas.”

“Okay,” The doctor says, nodding in affirmation. Swallowing, Dean returns the doctor’s nod. “I’ll create an opening for your escape.” Cas deadpans, side-stepping Dean. If Dean ever doubted how Cas feels, he doesn’t now. 

Dean snatches the other man by the wrist just as he’s about to leave the room. Cas turns to look back at him, but Dean is already narrowing the distance barely hovering in the doctor’s space. Dean has always hated goodbyes; he is much better with actions. “I’m not your patient as of now, Cas.” And with those words Dean seals his lips around the ones that have been haunting him since the beginning. They’re chapped but soft, and then those lips are pushing back against Dean’s in earnest. The kiss is as quick as Dean’s escape will be. 

Slitting his eyes open as he pulls back, Dean captures Cas’ lax face before it slips into its usual blank state. Dean’s heart stutters at the sight, it’s like looking upon divinity. “Wait here, you’ll know your opening.” Cas says. The doctor flashes Dean a predatory smile over his shoulder as he nears the door, stopping shy of the hallway. “And Dean, no throwing yourself in the ocean when you leave.”

Running a hand through his hair, Dean can’t help the smile on his face as his cheeks redden. One of these days, Dean is going to get an upper hand on the doc. Staring at the back of Cas’ head as he disappears around the corner, a small glimmer blooms in Dean’s chest. Perhaps tonight won’t be goodbye after all, but more of a see you later. 

Red lights rage like a fire station as the alarm sounds a mere three minutes later. Crazy bastard must have started a fire. Shaking his head, Dean waits while watching the nurses run towards the smell of smoke filling the hallway. Dean glances at the clock the doctor keeps on his desk. He’s got about nine minutes before eight o’clock, he better hurry. 

Dean waits another minute for any lingering nurses before slipping into the hallway. All of his senses are on high alert as flies down the flight of stairs. Luck once again stands on his side as the security guard is gone, probably searching for the culprit of the fire. All of Cas’ tips from his previous escape attempts prove useful, and Dean shakes his head. Even now the doctor is still saving his sorry ass. Entering the floor cautiously, Dean walks calmly in order to not draw suspicion onto himself towards the vacant employee elevator, letting out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding when the doors slide closed. 

Whistling a little Metallica, Dean pushes open the side door to the outside world. His feet guide him towards the familiar rumble of his Baby—a rebuilt ‘67 Chevy Impala that is essentially his home on wheels. The black beauty is hardly visible under the cover of night, but Dean’s heart skips a beat at the sight nonetheless. Blaring noises are muted with a quick shut of Baby’s door. Sam wrinkles his nose at the sight of his brother—frumpy patient scrubs, greasy hair, and his semi-sad smile—but slips on a smirk on after a beat. “Ready?” Sam says, pulling the gearshift into drive. 

Dean nods, watching the institution fade into the distance. He reassures himself as a twinge of sadness invades his heart; he was never meant to be there that long; he was never meant to get close to anyone let alone the quirky hot mess of a doctor Cas was; he was ready to get back to work. Leaning his head back against the black leather, Dean sighs. Freedom wasn’t supposed to taste so bitter.

* * *

Dean pulls up to an older rustic brick home. The outside is rather charming with well-maintained flower beds wrapping around the front of the house, and interesting gnomes scattered throughout the multi-colored flowers. Bouncing on the balls of his feet a few times, Dean tries to calm his screaming anxiety. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, he can do this, it’s only a few feet. Two months isn’t a long time but to Dean it feels like a lifetime has passed. 

The house sports a bright yellow door, and Dean can’t help but smile at the sight of it. It’s just so him. He removes one of his hands where it’s glued inside his jeans and knocks three times on the door. After a few minutes he’s about to abort the whole thing and walk away with his tail in between his legs when the door swings open. Blue eyes shine at him, leaving Dean scrambling to breathe. Cas looks amazing in normal human clothes with his rumpled t-shirt and low slung jeans. Allowing Dean his fill, the doctor clears his throat after a few silent minutes.

“Hello, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Once again, please know you are not alone in your fight. Also know that I love you for reading this and taking the time. 
> 
> Xoxo,
> 
> Alice


End file.
